


Slut #1: Prices

by ysmccool



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Series, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-10
Updated: 2005-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 07:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11122428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ysmccool/pseuds/ysmccool
Summary: A Detective meets a Master.





	Slut #1: Prices

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Slut #1: Prices

## Slut #1: Prices

  
by YS McCool  


Author's Notes: It was an image in my mind that wouldn't go away until I wrote it.

* * *

Disclaimer: Due South characters belong to Alliance Television, no copyright infringement is intended. Original characters are the sole property of the author YS McCool.  
  
Pairing : Vecchio/Fraser Rating : Mature audience Only Summary : A Detective meets a Master.  
  
Slut #1 Prices by YS McCool  
  
"Do you have a problem with what I do, Detective Vecchio?" Fraser asked in a throaty whisper. The larger man didn't quite drape himself across his expensive white leather couch, but it was a near thing. He had thick, black, lightly curled hair, which Ray envied, clear blue eyes, and a square jaw. Except for his attire, he could have been a poster boy for Canadian good living. His white mesh shirt was held together with only one button, which was located just a finger's breadth past the top of his white leather pants. He reached over and stroked the top of his pet wolf's white head.  
  
"My only problem is that your client was a married man," Vecchio replied pragmatically. If he wanted this man to talk, then he needed to keep his personal opinions about their nasty activities to himself. He saw pain and suffering every day on the job, why would anyone pay for it?  
  
A man like Fraser shouldn't be charging for his body. His looks were enough to hurt without a high price tag also being attached. It was Ray's romantic side that had no problem with two or more men loving each other, but this wasn't love, it was commerce.   
  
Fraser pursed his lips and his blue eyes lit up with an inner humor. "If he didn't have a problem begging for my cock from his married lips, why should I?"  
  
Vecchio bit down a retort that would have had him either tossed out of the mansion or flat on his back with the wolf tearing him apart or shedding on his good suit. "Someone may have had a problem with that." Ray held the crime scene photo toward the other man. "They busted him up pretty good." Vecchio was rewarded with the first sign that this Fraser character wasn't always in control, 'whore boy' paled underneath his artificial tan. "I don't think you and all of your toys could have done as well."  
  
Fraser turned away, obviously shaken. "I had no idea he'd been so..."  
  
"His taste for pain must have been sated about forty minutes before he died," Vecchio stated dryly. "Now, back to my question -- when did Davis leave here and what kind of shape was he in?"  
  
Fraser reached over the arm of the leather couch and picked up a red leather portfolio. He opened it, his hands shaking slightly. "Jerome Davis left promptly at 9:00 p.m. and he'd only had a light paddling." He seemed to be reading some notes along the margin. "He was distracted, not really into the scene. He'd paid for another hour but gave his safe word with his asscheeks barely pinkened and left as soon as he was dressed." Fraser closed his portfolio. "If there is anything else I can do to assist you, Detective ah..."  
  
"Vecchio," Ray supplied. He extracted a card from his shirt pocket and held it out to Fraser. The larger man took the card and stroked Ray's finger while he did it. Vecchio was proud that he didn't jump backwards and fall on his ass.  
  
"I will call you if I hear anything, Detective Vecchio," Fraser promised. "People like to talk to me."  
  
"I'm surprised you can hear anything over their screams," Ray said sarcastically.  
  
Fraser's blue eyes frosted. "Only amateurs make their clients scream, Detective. My goal is a shout of joy followed by a release."  
  
"That's nice," Ray said, reaching deep into his barrel of polite. He squared his shoulders, glad he was getting to depart from this place with his dignity firmly in place.  
  
"Will you be crossing the water again anytime soon?" Fraser inquired. "Canada is a lovely and giving place. Especially for handsome men."  
  
"Well, we have an entire squad room of them back at the station," Ray said dryly. "I'll pass your invitation along."  
  
Fraser looked amused. "I was speaking of you, Detective Vecchio. You're a very handsome man."  
  
Ray shook his head. "Hearing you say that makes me think you've got something to hide, Mister Fraser." He smiled at the other man, whose expression defied interpretation, and left the room. It was many strides and two checkpoints later before Ray was outside the mansion.  
  
Vecchio was a man who liked to listen to his instincts and they told him that the owner of the Firm Hand Club, known mostly by the title "The Mansion", knew what was going on in his place at all times and that Fraser was too fond of the bottom line for the word to get out that his clients were being beaten to death. Ray would be hearing from the man sometime soon. Hopefully he would have a lead.  
  
. . . .  
  
Benton watched the monitor until the older American-made car was back on the road. He pressed a button. "Turnbull, Orvitz, my office." Fraser threw himself back on the couch and spread his thighs ever so slightly. He liked his young bucks hungry and eager to serve.  
  
The two tall and muscular men entered the room quickly and knelt before their master. They were dressed in leather pants that exposed their glorious asscheeks for all eyes. They were two of the prettiest of Fraser's staff and he planned to continue their training to the next level. Their faces and bodies would make him a lot of money before they went out on their own.  
  
"My lord," the men said in unison.  
  
"My pretties, the handsome detective had a very sad tale to share with me," Fraser said poutily.  
  
"Turnbull insisted you would wish to speak to him, Milord," Orvitz said, trying to gain favor with Fraser by running down the other man. It was a very ill-considered strategy.  
  
"It was the right thing to do," Turnbull insisted to Orvitz. "The dead man was a client and he died within an hour or two of leaving here."  
  
"Quite right," Fraser agreed, surprising Orvitz. "Turnbull, find out what you can about the handsome detective. Orvitz, summon my Hound and then report to the bathing room and reflect upon the dishonor of dissing your fellow servants as you bathe our clients."  
  
Orvitz placed his forehead on the floor in a show of pure humiliation before rising to his feet to summon Fraser's enforcer.  
  
Turnbull inclined his head and did not gloat over his fellow servant's downfall. Yes, this one had potential. Fraser would test him by giving him a client of his own to tend.  
  
The two young men had not been gone a full minute before Thatcher entered the room. She was dressed in simple chocolate brown slacks, walking shoes, and a cream-colored turtleneck sweater. Though she was a beautiful woman, Fraser did not keep her on staff for that. She did not serve clients, she served him. Unlike his men, this one was not in his thrall, and he suspected Thatcher would never show any interest in Fraser unless he grew a pussy.  
  
"Thatcher, Jerome Davis left this place, crossed the water to Chicago, and was beaten to death. I want to find out what happened to him," Fraser announced. "Use discretion in your collection methods, my dear. One dead body is enough."  
  
"As you will," Thatcher answered. She left the room immediately, leaving Fraser to stroke his wolf's head and remember a pair of saucy green eyes and a mouth that begged to be kissed.  
  
\----(V)----(V)----(V)----  
  
Ray almost didn't recognize the tall, handsome young man who walked up to his desk. He looked quite different when his ass wasn't hanging out of his extremely tight pants. "Hello," Vecchio said awkwardly as he noticed so many others in the squad room watching his visitor. Too bad he couldn't brag the young man had come seeking Ray's company on a personal matter. It would do wonders for his reputation.  
  
"Hello, Detective Vecchio, my name is Ren Turnbull," the big man announced. "Master Fraser wanted you to have this information." He passed a gray-green folder tied with a black ribbon to Ray.  
  
"Have a seat, Turnbull," Ray invited. He pushed a few folders to the side and opened the one he'd been given. He read the documents inside, becoming more and more excited as the scraps he'd been able to pull together fell into place with this added information. "Zuko," he whispered.  
  
"I'm afraid so, Detective," Turnbull said grimly. "Mister Davis's death had nothing to do with his activities but can be linked to his string of dry cleaners, some of which are located in what Mister Zuko considers to be his territory. Detective Vecchio, his wife knew about Jerome's tastes. Catherine even attended some sessions before she became too ill to make the trip. When he was at the mansion, he was not out getting into trouble and that's what she wanted."  
  
Ray looked up, shocked. He'd assumed that Davis was off walking on the wild side while his poor diminished wife sat at home with their children. Maybe she'd fulfilled his needs until she'd become too ill to continue. He'd never thought of that before. "Thank you, Turnbull, and thank Mister Fraser for me, too."  
  
Turnbull smiled and slipped on his Ray Bans. "He'd much rather you stop by and thank him yourself." He rose. "Good day, Detective."  
  
Vecchio rose to his feet. He couldn't help but smile at the little game Fraser was trying to play with Ray's head. "Mister Fraser thinks he's funny, Turnbull. I belong in that place like flip flops belong with Armani."  
  
Turnbull didn't respond but his smile faltered just a bit. "I'll let him know what you said."  
  
Vecchio watched the younger man leave and then headed toward his lieutenant's office. He ignored the catcalls from his fellow officers. You'd think they'd never seen a handsome man before. "Lieu, I have some information on the Davis murder."  
  
Welsh looked up. "What have you got?"  
  
"Zuko," Ray replied. He sat down. "It's an ugly tale of greed and violence, sir."  
  
"Isn't it always," Welsh replied.  
  
Ray laid out the case against Zuko.  
  
\----(V)----(V)----(V)----  
  
Benton watched his detective, who didn't yet know he was Benton's detective, leave the police station. Zuko had been arrested earlier in the morning and Benton wanted to make sure that any remnants of the Zuko gang didn't target the handsome Italian.  
  
He followed the man to a suburban neighborhood and up to an older Victorian domicile. According to Turnbull, Ray was divorced and the sole financial support to a house full of hungry mouths -- older sister, older sister's perpetually unemployed husband, older sister's four children, younger sister, uncle, and mother. The man needed a release. A release named Benton Fraser.  
  
Fraser pulled into the driveway behind Ray. Vecchio whipped around with his gun out. Obviously Ray's mind was on a similar track when it came to his safety. "Hello, Ray."  
  
Vecchio holstered his weapon. "Fraser, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I received your letter, Ray," Fraser informed the other man. "I keep it under my pillow because it's handwritten. It gives me excellent dreams."  
  
Vecchio blushed. "Fraser, why are you doing this? The case is over and your reputation is unsullied."  
  
"I came to see you since you won't come to see me," Fraser explained. He stepped closer so that the streetlights would show the other man that he was more demurely dressed than he'd been the last time they'd spoken. He was wearing charcoal gray slacks, a black silk shirt, and a black leather jacket. Everything was Armani, which Turnbull had informed Fraser was Vecchio's favorite designer.  
  
"Why would you want to see me?" Vecchio asked, his voice suspicious.  
  
"Because you fascinate me, Ray," Fraser confessed. "I haven't been fascinated for a very long time."  
  
The door to the house opened and an older woman stepped out. Fraser guessed she was Ray's mother. "Raymond, aren't you going to bring your friend inside?" she asked.  
  
Fraser leapt at the chance. "Why thank you very kindly," he said, moving past Vecchio and taking the older woman's arm. "Now tell me, which sister are you -- Maria or Francesca?" He smiled. Mrs. Vecchio tittered.  
  
Ray rolled his eyes heavenward. "Ma, this is Benton Fraser. Benton, this is my mother, Sophia," Vecchio reluctantly introduced. "I'm sure he's much too busy to eat dinner with us."  
  
Benton sniffed. "Is that lasagna?" he asked with just a hint of hunger touching his voice. "Homemade?"  
  
"Yes, it is," Sophia agreed. "Come on in, there's plenty and you have so little meat on your bones."  
  
Benton continued to smile as he went inside and Ray trailed behind them softly cursing his fate.  
  
Fraser was nearly fed to death and then given a doggy bag to take home. He told them his sad life's story -- orphaned young, left with grandparents who didn't last much longer, and forced to earn a living the best he could. He told them about his flower shop, his half-interest in a bakery, and the parcel delivery service. All of which made him seem like a striver. The mansion, the servants, and the clients who had made all the rest possible were not mentioned. It wasn't a lie; it was an omission.  
  
Francesca would have been easy to turn to his will, but his true target, Ray, was definitely the greater prize. Fraser kept stealing glances at the man all during dinner and every glance made him want the man even more.  
  
Benton insisted on doing the dishes with Ray, which gave him ample opportunities to touch the other man's wet, soapy hands and brush up against him.  
  
At the end of the evening, after Benton had read three stories to the children, he announced that he had such a long drive ahead of him to get home, that he needed to find a hotel for the night. As he predicted, Mrs. Vecchio wouldn't hear of it. There was only one thing for Benton to do and that was to spend the night with them. And where could an unmarried adult male sleep in this household since the children were already tucked in? Why in Ray's room in Ray's full-sized bed with Ray. Benton could have blown it all by jumping up and down and clapping his hands but he was made of sterner stuff.  
  
"You are some piece of work," Ray said once his bedroom door was closed and locked against the possible intrusion of his youngest sister.  
  
"What do you mean, Ray?" Benton asked innocently.  
  
"You've got my entire family loving you," he complained.  
  
"Does the entire part include you, Ray?" Fraser asked, already knowing the answer.  
  
"I know what you do, Fraser," Ray answered. He passed a pair of pajamas to Benton. "Bread, flowers, and parcel post? Who are you kidding?"  
  
"That part was all true, Ray," Fraser promised. "I never lie if I can avoid it. It makes people not trust your word." He stepped a little closer and began peeling off his clothes.  
  
When he was younger, he used to charge people for the privilege of undressing him. Sometimes they got a kiss, but that was all. Vecchio was watching him and trying not to stare. He could get much more than a kiss from Ben. All Ray had to do was touch Fraser.  
  
"Don't you have to tell your clients what they want to hear?" Vecchio asked as he pulled off his shirt. He was much more muscular than Benton had been expecting. He had long, lean muscles that pointed toward stamina and beautiful skin that said "lick me" quite loudly.  
  
"No, Ray," Benton answered. "I have the whip but sometimes the truth is much more brutal."  
  
Vecchio appeared to be considering that statement as he continued to peel down. The legs were reminiscent of a long distance runner, lightly furred, and again unblemished. No one had marked this body. Then he turned away and Benton saw a ragged scar and the sight of it hit Benton like a body blow.  
  
"What happened?" Benton asked as he touched the damaged section.  
  
"I was shot," Vecchio said plainly. If there was pain in the memory, time had softened it. "I kept a woman from shooting another lady she thought was wrinkling the sheets with her husband. The supposed home wrecker was my sister, Maria."  
  
"Did you catch the shooter?" Benton asked, ready to send his Hound out on a seek and destroy mission.  
  
Ray's head sagged. "Yeah, I did. She killed herself while awaiting trial. It seems the husband had been working a second job in order to save up enough money for a down payment on their first house. They lost it all to lawyers' fees."  
  
Benton couldn't take his hand away from Ray's shoulder. The ugly scar marred the otherwise pristine back. "Why haven't you had this removed?"  
  
"Plastic surgery costs money. Money better spent on food, clothes, braces, heating, and medical bills. Besides, it's a reminder of how precious life is, Benton," Ray answered as he turned around. "It reminds me how close I came to losing my sister. Maria was four months pregnant with her third child. I could have lost them both." He shrugged the damaged shoulder. "This is nothing compared to that."  
  
He stood before Benton nude, in more ways than one, and Fraser had never wanted a man or a woman more in his life. Ray looked him in the eyes, daring Benton to make some stupid or flippant remark.  
  
"You're a good man, Ray Vecchio," Benton said simply. "I could have been a good man once."  
  
"You have your moments," Vecchio assured him before stepping into his pajama bottoms. "I could have never nailed Zuko without your help."  
  
"I had ulterior motives, Ray," Benton confessed, knowing he could be sabotaging himself for all time.  
  
"What was that?" Ray asked as he slipped his arms into his pajama tops.  
  
"I wanted to clear my establishment's name and," Benton paused to touch Ray's chin then cup his face. When barefoot, Ray was actually taller than Benton. Fraser didn't have his boots to rely on for extra height here. "I wanted to see you again."  
  
"Well, you've seen me," Ray pointed out. He moved back, but Benton stepped forward and recaptured the smaller man's face.   
  
Just one kiss and he could die happy.   
  
Benton pressed his mouth against Ray's and licked the other man's lips apart. When their tongues touched, Benton nearly collapsed from the shock he felt. He hoped Ray had felt even a tenth of that jolt. They parted for air.  
  
"You're a whore and I'm a cop," Vecchio said firmly. "This will not work."  
  
Benton pushed Ray back and down onto the bed. The pajamas came off as easy as Ray had put them on. Benton removed the last of his clothes and lay down on the other man. "We're all whores, Ray. Some of us just negotiate for better terms." He licked Ray's throat. "How much, Ray? How much would you charge for your gorgeous, sexy voiced self?" He kissed Vecchio's shoulders, nipples, and mouth. "I'd pay for you, Ray. Do you want me to wear costumes? Do you want to chain me to a wall and whip me? Do you want me to bend over your desk at the station and take it in front of your colleagues?"  
  
"I've got a madman in my bed," Vecchio groaned.  
  
"You've driven me mad, Ray. Can you believe that Benton Fraser is ready to debase himself over someone he's just met?" Fraser licked his way down to Ray's cock. It was long and ready, just like the rest of the man. Being in the business meant he could do something for Vecchio that he'd probably never had done. Benton deepthroated Ray.  
  
"Oh, gawd," Vecchio moaned helplessly. "You can't be doing that," he protested.  
  
Benton kept the other man still as he worked his way up and down the entire generous length of Ray's cock. Ray tasted good, felt good, smelled good, and Benton could only imagine how the two of them looked together as Benton sucked Ray and Ray threw back his head in joy while holding Fraser's head.  
  
"Don't stop," Ray begged as Benton did just that. "Damn, man, I was about to pop."  
  
"I have somewhere else for you to pop," Benton explained. He grabbed the lube and condom out of the pouch he kept in an inner pocket of his jacket.  
  
"I can't --" Ray began but Fraser put his hand over the smaller man's lips.  
  
"You won't hurt me," Benton promised. "It's been a while since I've been on the receiving end, but I can take you." He kissed Ray deeply. "I need to take you."  
  
Fraser readied himself because he knew the other man wouldn't have a clue what to do. He carefully rose up and lowered himself onto Ray's pole.  
  
Ray arched his back, gasped into the back of his hand, and stared wildly into Benton's eyes.  
  
Benton rode his Vecchio stallion, going from total control to assisted and finally to conquered as Ray put Benton on his side and pushed back into his body. "Oh, Ray," he moaned. "Yes, Ray. Please don't stop."  
  
Ray's answer was to grip Benton's hip and drive himself deeper and deeper into him. "Are you there yet, Fraser?" he asked. "Are you there?" The feel of his fingers nearly burned Benton's flesh.  
  
"Yes," Benton gasped as he spilled his seed into Ray's hand.  
  
Vecchio continued to stroke inside Benton until he came with a soft moan. "How much would you charge for that?" he asked.  
  
Benton looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Ray, I'd have to pay you for this."  
  
"No charge, Ben," Ray whispered against the back of his neck. He carefully removed his cock from Benton's stretched ass.  
  
The End or To Be Continued? 

  
 

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End Slut #1: Prices by YS McCool 

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